


The Young and Easy

by alcoholandregret



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Fluff, Friends With Benefits to Boyfriends, Getting Together, M/M, except also not really, i really solidly don't know what to tag this as other than like., it is that at the very least, it's just kinda mentioned?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 18:36:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13664901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alcoholandregret/pseuds/alcoholandregret
Summary: Mikey’s had actual proper capital f Feelings for his childhood friend for at least a year. It really was probably longer, really, but he only actually figured it out around a year or so ago. The thing that made it - still makes it difficult to determine, is their… lack of boundaries, so to speak.Regardless, he wasn’t talking or thinking about Dylan’s hands in the way they probably - reasonably - assumed he was.They’re soft. His hands are so fucking soft and he wants to hold them and never let go.





	The Young and Easy

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Drugs & Candy by All Time Low](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CzueOh-d15M)
> 
> The first sentence of this fic is the first prompt on [this](https://sidnate.tumblr.com/post/162955236698/startersprompts-aka-texts-ive-sent-with-no) mess of a prompt list

“Can’t a man think about another man’s hands for a few hours and not have any feeling behind it?” Mikey huffs, unprompted, half in Nate’s lap, half draped over the arm of the chair they’re on.

“No,” Nate deadpans.

“I think they can.”

“I bet.”

He sits up abruptly, almost falling forward off the furniture, and Nate catches him with one arm around his waist, not even looking away from the television. It’s only part good reflexes, but mostly muscle memory, considering how often it happens.

Mikey nods along to his words as he says them, “okay Nate. Okay. Okay Nate. Okay.”

Nate turns off the TV.

“Why do I agree to Letterkenny marathons with you?”

“Because it’s fuckin’ hilarious and you love me? But  _ listen, _ it’s one hundred percent normal to think about your friends’ hands sometimes.”

“I have never, not  _ once, _ thought about your hands.”

“Which is stupid, because I have great hands,” he motions like he’s got a puck on the end of an imaginary stick. “Silky.”

“Sure. Because you were talking about Dylan’s hockey.”

“I didn’t say I was thinking about  _ Dylan’s _ hands. And it’s the same thing anyway.”

“If I have to hear any more of this conversation,” Matt says from where he’s laying on the couch, looking up from his phone, “I’m going to kill you both and give Dylan a transcript of it at your funeral.”

“Of you murdering us or the conversation?” Mikey asks.

“Wanna find out?”

“No,” Nate says for him, which is a good thing, because he was definitely going to say something that would get a coaster or some shit thrown at them.

It takes two full minutes of begging Nate to get him to turn on the TV again. Well, two full minutes and another threat from his brother - the purpose of the threat more to shut Mikey up than action in support of putting the show back on, but whatever. It was effective nonetheless.

He’s watching it, of course, but he’s also maybe still thinking about Dylan. Probably. Definitely.

It’s nothing new.

He’s had actual proper capital f Feelings for his childhood friend for at least a year. It really was probably longer, really, but he only  _ actually _ figured it out around a year or so ago. The thing that made it -  _ still _ makes it difficult to determine, is their… lack of boundaries, so to speak.

See, around fifteen they’d been questioning things at the same time, and it seemed pretty reasonable for them to... he’s pretty sure Dylan’s exact words were “we’ll close our eyes and lean in on three and see what happens.”  _ See what happens. _ Like it was some kind of a mystery. They were in the closet in the back of the school’s library. It was weird, and, because their eyes were shut, they missed each other’s mouths completely. They laughed too loud about it and got caught.

Because of this, Mikey suggested a few days later that they try again.

“Mr. Locke would agree,” Dylan had nodded, and when Mikey went to ask why the fuck their science teacher would have any opinion on the matter, he gestured nonsensically with his hands and continued, “it’s like the scientific method, right? You have to test your hypothesis multiple times. ‘Cause if you don’t maybe your results were wrong.”

“You’re a nerd, Stromer,” Mikey laughed, but he kissed him again anyway, properly this time.

A month and at least a baker’s dozen more stolen kisses later, and it was Dylan’s turn to call Mikey a nerd when he claimed statistics aren’t accurate with small sample sizes.

It was familiar and good for both parties, and as they got older they moved past quick kisses and sloppily making out to - well, pretty much everything else. It wasn’t something either of them thought too much about beyond it being a comfort they knew they could turn to.

Matt and Nate are, as far as he knows, the only two people who know about it. Even then, they weren’t  _ told.  _ To put it simply, neither of them know how to knock.

Well, they certainly learned to.

Regardless, he wasn’t talking or thinking about Dylan’s hands in the way they probably - reasonably - assumed he was.

They’re soft. His hands are  _ so _ fucking soft and he wants to hold them and never let go.

So. There’s definitely feeling behind thinking about his hands for a couple of hours, but he’s simply pretending there’s not. He’s known for so long how he feels, but it’s easier to make like it’s not the case. He hasn’t even told Nate about it. He tells Nate pretty much anything and everything that pops into his head, and he’s kept this locked up. Not acknowledging it has been the way to go, because then it isn’t real.

Ignoring it was easier until it wasn’t.

It stopped being easy the moment Dyls got back from Arizona for the summer and he’s  _ right there _ like, all the time. And he grabbed Mikey’s wrist to show him something. And it was so close to his hand. And his hands are so soft. Sure, he said a couple hours, but that was yesterday. Still technically a couple hours. If you pretend hard enough.

“Okay I know you aren’t saying anything right now, but I really wish you’d stop thinking about what you’re thinking about while you’re in my lap.”

It barely registers that Nate even spoke, so there wasn’t any way any of the words would have had any chance to sink in. Still, he knows he has to say something, but he can’t think about anything except-

“I think I’m in love with Dylan.”

Wait. He didn’t mean to say that.

Matt whistles.

“Wait. No-” Mikey starts and stops, flopping back over the arm of the chair. “Fuck.”

“That’s rough, buddy,” Matt says, and Mikey shoots him a look.

“You’re in love with Dylan,” Nate repeats his words slowly, like that’s what it’ll take for them to make sense for him.

“No,” he responds, too quickly.

“Tell him,” Matt suggests.

“No.”

“Tell him,” Nate nods, and Mikey can only see Matt, but he knows they shared a look, and he doesn’t appreciate them teaming up on him like this.

“No,” he sits up and sticks his finger in Nate’s face. Then he turns to Matt and jabs a finger at him too. “Absolutely not.”

“Mikey.” He can  _ hear _ Nate rolling his eyes beside him.

He turns back to him and shakes his head, repeating, yet again, “no.”

“C’mon.”

“No, Nate. I’m not telling Dylan that I’m not in love with him. Because I’m  _ not.” _

“Right. You aren’t gonna do that.”

“Thanks,” Mikey deflates a little, glad that it’s over, but his shoulders don’t even relax all the way before Nate makes him tense up again.

“Because you’re going to tell him that you  _ are _ in love with him.”

“Nate-” he stops, because Matt’s being really quiet, and when Mikey looks over at him, he’s holding his phone to his ear. “What are you doing?”

“Calling Dylan.”

“What, why?” Mikey is fairly certain the only time his heart has ever beat this fast was when he made the ill-advised decision to shotgun a can of Red Bull. That was far more fun than this.

“Because I don’t want t- hey Dyls-”

“Matt I swear to god-”

“Your boy is annoying me.”

“I’m not-”

“In the basement, yeah.”

“Oh my god.”

“See you in a sec.”

He hangs up, and Nate pats Mikey’s shoulder.

“Both of you are uninvited to my birthday party,” he mumbles, folding his arms across his chest.

“Right, the birthday that was like five months ago,” Nate laughs. “Sorry I’ll be missing it.”

“It’s fine,” Matt shrugs, “we’ll get bragging rights at the wedding.”

“Whose wedding?” Dylan asks, coming down the stairs. 

Mikey chokes on nothing and Nate smacks his back a couple of times. 

“How’d you get here so fast?” Nate easily changes the subject, and Mikey could kiss him probably. He won’t, though. Dylan and all that.

“I was already on my way over here when Matt called,” he shrugs and walks over behind the chair, wrapping his arms loosely around Mikey’s shoulders. “You’re being annoying?”

“Never,” Mikey leans back and looks up at Dylan, a dumb grin taking its place on his face without him meaning to. Really, that happens any time he’s with Dylan or sees Dylan or thinks about Dylan. God, he’s fucked.

“I bet,” he shakes his head, laughing under his breath before leaning down to press a kiss to Mikey’s forehead.  _ So _ fucked.

“Nate, can you help me change the breaks in my car?” Matt asks, sitting up and stretching. “It needs done and I work better with company.”

Mikey’s not a complete idiot, okay? He knows Matt is just trying to take Nate out of the equation because he wants Mikey to, like, talk about feelings and shit. He’s not as sly as he thinks he is. Then again, he probably isn’t trying to be sly at all, considering Dylan is the only one that wasn’t present what felt like fifteen seconds ago.

He rests a hand over where Dylan’s wrists are crossed over his chest. “Have Ryan help you.”

“He’s at my house,” Dylan hums, resting his chin on the top of Mikey’s head.

“Of course he is,” he sighs, knowing he’s lost this one

“Yeah, I’ll help,” Nate shoves Mikey to the side so he slides out of his lap when he stands up.

“Nate-” Mikey starts, but he snaps his mouth shut when Nate puts a hand on his shoulder and gives him a look. He knows him well enough to know exactly what it means - no arguments; talk your shit out. Fine. They can leave and go fix Matt’s car that he’s pretty sure is working just fine, and he’ll stay here and make out with Dyls until they get back. No need for words. It isn’t like they can  _ make  _ him talk. No one is holding a gun to his head or anything. 

Being alone with Dylan is hardly a punishment.

The two disappear up the stairs, and Dylan’s straddling his lap before he can even blink it seems, lightly brushing a hair out of Mikey’s face.

“Hey,” he smiles.

“Hey,” Mikey smiles back. It’s been five years, maybe longer, that they’ve been doing this, but he still can’t help but feel as lucky? Is lucky the right word? Like, he kind of can’t believe that he has this  _ person _ that he. Has? He’s bad with words when it comes to Stromer, but it’s fine, really, because they never need words. Anyway, he can’t help but feel as lucky as he did in that closet at school. Maybe even more so, because he doesn’t have a test in twenty minutes. 

He does have the whole ‘face your feelings’ thing, but he can ignore that. He has to.

“Are you okay?”

“Great,” he half lies with a nod, and Dylan’s smile turns softer, and then he’s kissing him, and he  _ actually _ feels great. Like, fine,  _ maybe _ he  _ is  _ in love with his friend, and yeah, it kind of sucks, but also? He’s got the familiarity. It’s easy, and sweet - literally. Dylan must have eaten one of the grape lollipops that he hoards before he got here. It’s nothing new, but also, it’s so  _ him _ that Mikey’s heart aches.

Telling Dylan would risk all of this - even beyond the physical shit. Losing him as a friend would be worse than, well, most things. Even so, having a little is better than having nothing at all. He’ll stick with what he’s got, thank you very much.

But then Dylan cups his face, and that’s a lot in itself, but on top of the usual ‘this is pretty gentle and affectionate for what we are’ thing, his hand is so soft, and he wants so badly to hold it and go on sappy cliche dates like sharing a milkshake and-

Mikey pulls away and tries to catch his breath, because his brain and chest feel like he’s been doing bag skates for the past hour. When he opens his eyes, his friend is looking at him with obvious concern written across his features.

“Are you okay?” He asks again.

“I can’t-” he pauses for another deep breath, trying to compose himself, but he continues in a rush when Dylan’s face falls. “I can’t stop thinking about your hands.”   


“My hands?”

His mouth is still working faster than his brain, which isn’t all that difficult considering it’s mostly a panicked, staticy mess.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, but-”

“No, Dyls, I-” he covers his face with his hands. Now or never, he supposes. He’ll sue Nate and Matt for emotional damages if this goes south. “I’m in love with you.”

_ “In?” _

“In,” he confirms from behind his hands. He kind of wants to do the kid watching a horror movie thing and peek through his fingers, but the kids watching the horror movies never see what they want to see when they do that. So.

He waits and expects the cold of Dylan getting up and leaving, or - some kind of negative response. Yelling? That’s not very Dyls, but then again, this isn’t very Mikey. The feelings thing. He waits and there’s nothing, and nothing, and then-

Soft hands on his wrists, carefully pulling his hands away from his face.

“Mikey.”

“Yeah.”

“It’s okay.”

At least he doesn’t hate him. That’s a good thing. However, ‘it’s okay’ isn’t exactly a response he knows what to do with. 

He opens his mouth to say something - something stupid, probably - but Dylan continues before he gets the chance.

“‘Cause I’m definitely in love with you too, dude.”

That. Well that he knows what to do with. Kinda. Actually, his brain went from static to, like, overdrive, so all his mouth can say is “cool.”

Dylan hums. “Nah.”

“Nah?”

“You’re pretty hot, so.”

Mikey laughs and shoves at his chest. “I hate you. Go home.”

“Nope. You just said you love me. No take backs.”

“What if I have a receipt?”

Dylan taps his chin with one finger like he’s contemplating it. “Well, then I guess I go home instead of staying here and-”

“Weird,” Mikey interrupts, quickly grabbing one of Dylan’s wrists, “I think I left my receipt in my jeans, and I just got done doing laundry. It’s practically nonexistent. Gone.”

Dylan smiles that soft smile and wiggles his wrist free so he can take Mikey’s hand in his. It’s even softer like this. “Guess you’re stuck with me then.”

**Author's Note:**

> My friend that really doesn't know much of anything about hockey besides what I tell her is very distraught that Mikey/Dyls isn't more of a thing so I wrote this quick lil thing for her?? It's all over the place but mostly it was a short distraction from my four hundred wips
> 
> I hope y'all liked it!!
> 
> catch me on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/alcoholnregret) and [tumblr](http://www.sidnate.tumblr.com)


End file.
